Fred and George
by remembercedric
Summary: "We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat." Snape and McGonagall have a disagreement, Peeves eludes Filch, Gryffindor defeats Hufflepuff. Also watch out for: Moaning Myrtle, dentures, Oliver Wood...and Albus Dumbledore overseeing it all!


Thanks to Mallory for the beta. Thanks also to all those of you who have joined my Yahoo!Group, especially the posters. Final thanks to my first reviewer—larluki. The rest of you, don't be shy! We all like you here, and reviews or posts are _always_ appreciated. 

Suggested soundtrack for this fic is _Freckle Face Girl_ (Jen Bye), _Suffragette City_ (David Bowie), _Hard Day's Night_ (Beatles), _Chelsea Morning_ (Fairport Convention), _Mir_ (The Kicks), _For the Longest Time_ (Billy Joel), _The Rainbow_ (Apples in Stereo).

It is safer to accept any chance that offers itself,

And extemporize a procedure to fit it,

Than to get a good plan matured,

And wait for a chance of using it.

—Thomas Hardy

Fred and George

"This meeting will now come to order." Albus Dumbledore stood at the head of a large oak table, calmly waiting for the noise and chatter to die down. He knew he had a long wait coming, and thought it was best endured in quiet. The day was Thursday, the occasion—Hogwarts' monthly staff meeting. Rather than the air of boredom that sometimes pervaded such Muggle meetings, the atmosphere here was one of repressed anticipation. A passerby might have mistaken the gathering as a festival or holiday. Albeit a _small_ festival, but a festival nonetheless.

Albus' announcement was ignored by the professors. Argus Filch continued to insist on showing Minerva a jar of water with pink rubber shreds floating on the top. He claimed it was the remnants of Peeves' stealth aerial attack on a bunch of first years; a regrettable incident resulting in more than a few breakfast-disrupting Howlers. Argus also seemed to be under the delusion that this—his latest scheme for revenge—would somehow end differently than all the others. 

Poor Argus, how mistaken he was. Minerva simply ignored him, as had become her habit, and continued conversing with Professor Snape about the fairness of his refereeing a Quidditch match whose outcome held special interest for him. She argued that he was undoubtedly looking to gain an unfair advantage for his Slytherins in the House Cup competition, while _he_ maintained that she was coddling her precious Gryffindors yet again. 

"Really, Minerva. How can you expect them to exhibit, much less develop, their..._bravery_," Minerva silently thought that sneering, if overdone, tended to lose its effect, "when everyone in this school trips over themselves to ensure the most difficult situation any Gryffindor encounters," Severus' voice was quickly increasing in pitch, and a vein in his temple began to pulse, "is a hideous maroon jumper that clashes with his bloody red hair!" 

"Honestly, Severus, that was entirely uncalled for! The Weasleys are upstanding members of the wizarding community, and—"

Three seats over, Poppy Pomfrey paused in her discussion with Professor Sinistra to note that, really, Severus was becoming a bit unhinged. The way his voice kept rising to unnaturally fevered pitches, and descending to gravelly depths...it just wasn't _healthy_. Personally, she chalked it up to his being passed over for the Defense Against the Darks Arts position yet again. She made a mental note to ask Albus if perhaps it might be best for Severus' sanity—and _everyone's_ blood pressure—if Severus was finally granted the position next term.

The feeling of excitement was easily explained. Hogwarts' staff meetings were infamous for the unusual situations invariably requiring attention. When gossip was scarce people _still_ reminisced over Timothy Rigsby's antics all those years ago. Too many meetings had been spent ignoring pressing educational issues in favor of discussing who had brewed illegal love potions, who had earned the most detentions in the last month, and who had been caught in the library after hours. The only instance in which _that_ sort of story failed to entertain was when the student in question was a Ravenclaw. Or Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor first year. Nothing illicit—or, consequentially—interesting going on _there_. 

"Attention...attention—_excuse_ me!" Albus paused a few moments, secretly pleased that his second attempt to gain order had failed. It provided him the perfect opportunity to test a new projectory spell he had developed over summer holiday. "_Abliento imago oris arista_."(1) Albus quietly whispered the spell, concealing his wand in the billowy purple fabric of his sleeve. He rather wanted to shout and draw attention, like a child. However, the wise sage in Albus squashed the little boy with promises of future Zonko's fun. His internal struggle resolved, Albus waited with silent glee to see the effects of his spell. He did not have long to wait, and he was not disappointed in the outcome.

Severus and Sybill Trelawney were discussing something further down the table. Which was unusual, considering their opposite and repellant personalities. Sybill was the mist to Severus' marble, the fraud to his truth, the delusion to his awareness. In every way that attracted her to him, he was repulsed by her. But that was another of Hogwarts' deeply held secrets, for another time.

"It was simply _dreadful_, Severus," Sybill was saying. She spoke slowly, as if to project intensity and importance into her every syllable. The effect was decidedly anti-climatic. "I knew, knew as soon as I saw, that it was of the _utmost_ importance that I inform you. Something this significant could have awful implications, awful consequences, if not dealt with immediately. Indeed, I am afraid I may be already too late. My most sincere apologies, Severus."

"Good Lord, Sybill. There's really no need to be so dramatic. It wasn't that awful. You see the Grim at least twice a month. In fact, Minerva was just telling me the other day that if Lee Jordan died even _half_ the times you've predicted, I would have seventy Galleons in winnings. Rather unfortunate, that. You've cost me a great deal of money."

Unbeknownst to Severus or Sybill, Albus' spell was cast at this moment, transferring an invisible image of Severus' lips into the air space directly adjacent to Minerva's ear—basically, a highly advanced Eavesdropping Charm. 

Blissfully unaware of his audience, Severus continued speaking. "Come to think of it, Sybill, you ought to be more discreet. If word gets out to certain parties what sort of trouble you've caused me, well—" 

Minerva, at first only shocked to hear Severus' voice so near her ear, was now shocked by what the voice was _saying_. Uncontrollably, Minerva shouted. "Holy Morgaine, mother of Mordred!"(2) 

Albus shifted his amused gaze to her scandalized face. "Minerva. Is something the matter?" Only by great self-control was he able to keep the chuckle inside from escaping him. 

"Never in all my days! 'Discreet', indeed." An unladylike sound halfway between a 'humph' and a snort escaped Minerva, much to her embarrassment. Scottish warrior that she was, she did not let a little thing like embarrassment stand in the way of her beratement of Snape. "You ought to have reported him straight away, Sybill. There's _laws_…and _standards_. He can't get away with it, I'll tell you—"

Snape's facial features were in the process of attempting to assume every expression known to man. Confusion, Anger, Indignation, Mirth—all passed across his face. A few people present looked as if Mirth had spread to their own faces as well. Mostly the people who had never seen a hooked nose attempt to be Indignant.

Severus cast a quick spell, which resulted in yet another expression being added to his facial resume—Polite Puzzlement. "What have you done, Albus? Nothing permanent, I trust."

"Of course not, my dear Severus. Only a little humor at your expense. It worked wonderfully, too. You're all paying attention, and I do believe this is the fastest start we've had to a meeting in months. Minerva, if you inquire later of our good friend Severus, I think you will find him only too glad to inform you as to the nature of his remark. Until then you have my personal assurances that there is nothing inappropriate taking place between Professors Snape and Trelawney."

Minerva looked calmed if not satisfied, Severus looked self-righteous and smug, and Sibyll appeared to be vaguely affronted.

"Now that I have all your attention, we need to begin our staff meeting. First on the agenda is Argus' report on…let's see here…Peeves. That should be informative. I believe you haven't spoken on this topic since last May, Argus, unless I am much mistaken." 

Albus paused for an affirmative nod from Filch, and then continued speaking. "Please give your attention to Argus. And…Irma, you will be speaking next." Irma Pince, the school librarian, pushed her glasses up on her nose and shuffled through her notes. She took staff meetings very seriously.

While Albus sat down and adjusted his robes, Filch assumed the empty space at the head of the table. Secretly, he liked the feeling of power he got when leading the discussion at meetings. It was his chance to inform the Professors as to what was _really_ going on around the castle. None of them had any idea. Only he, Argus Filch, knew all the school's secrets and its inner workings.

"Good evening, Professors. Before I talk to you about…_Peeves_—" Mysteriously, Argus' right eye developed a nervous tic, and his left arm began to twitch. "—I'm glad to report that the culprit has been caught!" 

Filch's triumphant look was met with puzzled glances and shoulder shrugs. "I'm talking about—hold on, it's here—give me a minute…Ah!"

Argus whipped a picture out of his bag and brandished it in the air as if it was the long-awaited verdict of _Jarndyce v. Jarndyce_.(3) It was a photograph of Jacob Mitchell, a Ravenclaw fourth year. The photograph looked suspiciously riddled with pinpricks, as if dozens of little darts had pierced it.

"_This_ is the villain responsible for dirtying the Great Hall. The little wretch strolled right in out of the rain with his boots covered in mud, dripping with muck—this is one time too many that he's defaced school property this year, Professor." He turned an appealing face to Severus, whom he seemed to consider an ally of sorts. "If the old punishments were still around, Professor, he'd already be strung up by his toes, and have half his teeth pulled out of his jaw!"

Getting no reaction from Severus, he turned to face Albus. "I know you rejected my 'Proposal for the Reinstation of Corporal Punishment' last June—" Professor Vector shook her head, still unable to understand how he had talked her into helping him draft it. "—but I think that if you'll just look at what I've written _here_—"

Albus was saved from a possibly difficult situation by the commotion following Argus' last statement. A stream of mud poured from the rafters, soaking Filch and his carefully prepared proposal. "PEEVES! PEEVES, you DEVIL! This is IT Peeves! You've crossed the line and now I'm going to KILL you PEEVES!" No one had ever seen Argus look so irate. "I'll have you out of here so fast it'll make your filthy, poltergeist—"

The professors were deprived of hearing the rest of Argus' colorful description as his voice traveled further down the corridor, fading into the distance. Minerva noticed tiny Professors Flitwick and Sinistra leaning across the table in an attempt to better hear more of Argus' tirade. 

During the chaos, Albus had magically charmed away the mud and reclaimed his seat at the end of the table. A glance at his watch told him it was getting rather late. Deciding to bypass the earlier theatrics, he settled for restoring order by the more usual gavel. 

Irma Pince stood up to begin her presentation. What was the school coming to these days! She remembered when she was a girl and anyone—child, man, woman, poltergeist—who put a toe out of line was fined or imprisoned. Not that she would ever admit it, but she agreed with Argus that perhaps more traditional punishments would help to restore order and respect in the students. 

"As you may know, our school library has been experiencing certain…_difficulties_." No one present knew what these 'difficulties' were, but from her tone they knew they didn't ever want to be caught perpetrating one. 

"Lost books, destroyed books, books charmed to explode. And the books are not the only problem. Certain of our students feel it is…_prudent_…to conduct their personal affairs in the library. Illegally. After hours. This is hardly acceptable. No matter how many spells, charms, cur—_fews_, and wards I institute, the problems have continued. I have failed in every solution I have tried. After much thought, I have come to the conclusion that it is perhaps not _my_ efforts which are at fault."

Several Professors looked uneasily at one another, a strong sense of foreboding filling the room. "No, I have determined that is not the case. Rather, there are—_others_—who have fallen slack in their duties. Who have let rules fall by the wayside. Who value other activities as more important than their responsibility as guardians."

Hagrid, Poppy, and Sybill sat back in their seats, enjoying a free—although badly performed—production of The Crucible.(4) Irma presided as Judge Danforth over the unfortunate John and Elizabeth Proctors. They knew they were safe from Irma's wrath, as they had no responsibilities regarding the students outside of class. It was enjoyable for them to see the Heads of Houses humbled a little. And it was good for a laugh. 

"But I digress. My most important point here before you today is the issue of one student's attempt to single-handedly destroy my library." Irma spoke as a proud parent of a favorite child who has been horribly and unjustifiably wronged. "This student has deliberately, time and time again, broken all the rules. Defied the restrictions. Pushed the limits." 

Minerva used her index fingers to massage her temples. It always gave her headaches to hear others speak in improper sentences. It frustrated her even more when that person was a literary expert, and ought to know better. _Perhaps_, thought Minerva, _she does it to antagonize me. I wouldn't be surprised. What that woman wouldn't do to get her proposals voted through. Even if everyone only votes in favor to shut her mouth. Humph. She might be on to something. I ought to try it_.

Irma continued speaking for another thirty minutes, effectively killing the excited mood. Albus made a mental note to bring future meetings to order by having Irma speak first. He was a little surprised he hadn't thought of it before. He saw _now_ what an excellent plan it was.

"Yes, well, thank you Irma for that deeply…informative…presentation. No doubt we will _all_ be more careful in future about which students we allow to use the resources of our library. And I'm sure we all know a great deal more about the proper way to read a book. I know you've saved me from many a future page turning catastrophe, for which I am _deeply_ appreciative." Albus' gentle sarcasm was lost on Irma, although a few of the less comatose Professors managed a weak smile. 

Next on the agenda was Professor Snape's report on…well, it didn't matter. It could have been "Snape's Report on the Properties of Jobberknoll Feathers in Verita Serum", and he would still manage to make it _actually_ about "Snape's Dislike of Gryffindors in General, Gryffindor First Years Specifically, and Neville Longbottom Most of All." Everyone had heard the tirade many times…approximately once a month at every staff meeting.

Albus was a kind man—known for his compassion on those who could not protect themselves—and proved himself worthy of this reputation when he decided not to inflict Severus on the already weary staff. Severus was understandably disgruntled, but Albus noticed that the other Professors lifted their heads off their arms, straightened in their seats, and made general efforts to return to consciousness. Hagrid wiped an unsightly strand of drool from his beard when he thought no one was looking.

While everyone made themselves somewhat presentable, Albus commenced his impromptu reorganization of the schedule. _I'll shuffle Severus over to…let's see…two staff meetings from now. Yes, that sounds about right. He should have plenty of time to come up with new material to illustrate his latest grievances over the Gryffindors. And that should also give Minerva sufficient time to hear the scandal regarding Miss Bulstrode. Maybe I should put Severus in the schedule for next month. I'm rather anxious to here _that_ debate._

Giving himself a mental shake, Albus deliberated over who should speak next. _Filius still has a sore throat…Poppy has nothing unusual to report…I suppose Sybill could speak. But I'm not sure how safe I would feel sleeping tonight. I believe a few of the staff know the password to my rooms. No, perhaps that is not the best course of action. But—of course!_

Albus turned, smilingly, to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Minerva was always there to help when he needed something. Now, she could report on Harry's progress on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Albus had heard rumors that Gryffindor was expected to win the Cup this year. He would be glad of that. Green and silver did not lend themselves to festivities. And there was a petition circling among the seventh years to boycott the Leaving Feast if it was celebrated in Slytherin colors. He had even heard it was started by a Slytherin. Although, he did not lend much credence to _that_ rumor, having started it himself in a fit of boredom.

"I think now would be a good time to update us on Harry's involvement with the Quidditch team, Minerva. I know Severus, for one, has a few...questions, for you." Albus paused, having had a small difficulty choosing the correct word to describe what Severus would no doubt have to say on the topic.

This decision proved Albus' diplomatic savvy, as it drew mixed, but positive, reactions. Minerva looked pleased for an opportunity to discuss her favorite prodigy, Severus was glad—as usual—for a chance to express his views on Potter. Albus noted that the other Professors seemed merely relieved that Severus was not the speaker.

"As you well know, one of my first years, Harry Potter, has been granted special approval to play for my House team this year." Minerva glanced up from her notes to smirk at Severus as he glowered, stewing silently away in his seat. "This privilege was extended because Potter has displayed exceptional talent on the Quidditch pitch. It was indeed fortunate—"

"And just when did Potter display this talent, Minerva?" Severus interrupted, using his voice to gain the upper hand. "Surely not in his Flying lesson. Those brooms are charmed, I believe, to go no faster than ten miles per hour. Certainly they would not have allowed Potter to—"

Minerva had not spent so many years with Severus without picking up a few of his habits. Drinking black coffee, for instance. Now, however, she followed his example of smooth interruption. 

"It was indeed in his lesson when I saw him fly, Severus. His _first_ lesson, in fact. It is true the brooms are not Nimbuses, but it was not his speed that impressed me. It was his mastery of the broom and his fearlessness in—" 

"But surely, Minerva, Madam Hooch did not allow Potter to perform any type of maneuvers in her class that would give him opportunity to display any sort of talent. If that were the case, first years would spend the entire time cavorting in the air, trying to gain attention, and a place on their House team. As Potter has so conveniently done. No, Minerva. I believe that perhaps Potter must have been doing something illegal. Something Madam Hooch did not approve. Was he, perhaps, flying _without supervision_?"

Severus lowered himself down from his half-standing position, sitting smugly in his seat. It was obvious he thought he had won the verbal duel. Albus, however, seemed to believe differently. Not due to any lack of effort on Severus' part, but merely because Minerva had already told him the entire story beforehand, when she first asked permission for Harry to play on the team.

"Bravo, Severus! Well done. I believe you took second place in a debate contest during your sixth year?" Severus gave a tight, uncomfortable nod. "It shows, my dear friend. Your verbal repartee is to be commended. Worthy of Wilkins Micawber(5), if I remember the tale correctly. Your haste to incriminate young Harry, however...that worries me, Severus. I ask that you make an effort—if not to be kind to Harry—"

There were grins all around the table as people imagined Severus attempting to be _kind_ to anyone. The imagined expression was one caught between a grimace and a Clabbert(6). "—then at least to make an effort to ignore him. And that should not be too difficult as he is, I believe, a small boy. Yes. Well." 

Albus paused momentarily to recollect his thoughts. "Since it has been settled that Harry is indeed playing on the Gryffindor team, and that he is doing so with my knowledge and permission, I think it would be best if we returned to our original line of discussion. Minerva, would you kindly continue?"

Looking slightly ruffled and affronted, Minerva acquiesced with a gracious nod of her head. As much as she wanted to debate the issue with Severus and show him that she could hold her own in any discussion, she also knew that Albus, though kindly, would become upset if the meeting digressed into an arguing quagmire. 

"As I was saying, it was indeed fortunate that Potter was allowed to join my team. You may not know this, but the Gryffindor team has been struggling for several years now, due to—" Minerva was forced to stop once again when a half-muffled snort was heard from Severus' end of the table. She appealed to the Headmaster—"Albus!"

"Severus, I am afraid you must remain silent and attentive while Minerva speaks. As you would, no doubt, wish her to do for you." Looking frustrated, he shifted his gaze to Minerva. "Please continue."

"Thank you, Albus. My team has been struggling due to the graduation of several key members. Oliver Wood, my captain, tells me that Potter appears to be a superior player. He predicts a turn around season this year. Winning, in fact. Which could prove beneficial for the unity of our Leaving Feast."

Severus was fuming, but remained silent, heeding Albus' warning. Feeling as if she had gained a small victory, Minerva continued speaking.

"Therefore I would like to take this opportunity to thank Albus—and all of you—for your generosity. Know that it is much appreciated. It has been brought to my attention that some of you have expressed concern over Potter's ability to maintain his grades while becoming accustomed to wizarding life. This situation is undoubtedly made more difficult by his Quidditch responsibilities—which I freely admit. I am here to assure you that I have complete faith in Potter's abilities. The fact that he adjusted to life with Muggles—_those_ Muggles, especially—is proof of his tenacity."

Minerva looked less than thrilled about what she had to say next.

"However, I also understand the need for caution. To that end, Albus and I have agreed that if Potter's marks fall below a designated point, then he will…be removed from the Quidditch team."

Severus alone remained silent amid a sea of murmurs. His face first assumed an expression of glee, much to Minerva's chagrin and Albus' disappointment. They were both relieved to notice the faint glimmer of remorse…or regret…which crossed his eyes a few moments later, before disappearing without leaving a mark.

Minerva waited for the last mutterings to die away, and then she began to speak again. "I sincerely hope things do not come to that, but we both thought it was the best measure to assure Potter's continued success, and to alleviate your concerns. I ask only that you please report directly to me as soon as Potter's marks begin to fall, if that time should come. Thank you."

As Minerva took her seat, a soft knock was heard on the door. "Come in, Argus," said Dumbledore. "I trust you have apprehended Peeves, but I do hope you've left him unharmed. He's such a conversation piece—I'd hate to lose him."

The knock came again, amidst disbelieving glances from the staff. "Ah. Perhaps it is not Argus. Filius—you're nearest the door. Would you kindly answer it?"

Professor Flitwick opened the door to reveal a small greenish-brownish creature with a thin, pointy nose. It was Mowey, a house-elf who had worked at Hogwarts longer than any of the Professors, excepting the History of Magic teacher, Professor Binns. Among other responsibilities, house-elves sent a representative to report at staff meetings.

"I is sorry, Albus Dumbledore, for being late. Tanney is forgetting to reminds Mowey that it is being Mowey's turn to reports at the meeting. I is hoping you is not angry, Albus Dumbledore."

"I am not angry, Mowey. You are to be commended for your prompt appearance—according to my schedule, it is only now your turn to speak. Please step over here."

Albus discreetly Transfigured an apple core into a footstool for Mowey to stand on. Mowey gratefully clambered onto the stool, tripping on his old clothes. They were made of dishrags, and no matter how many times Albus offered to replace them, Mowey always declined.

"Good evening, sirs and misses. Mowey is honored to be being here. Tonight I am needing to reports first on this." He pulled a blue and yellow scarf from his clothes. "Hoglem is finding this in Hannah Abbot's room, and Mowey knows it is belonging to Terry Boot. Hoglem is wanting to be taking it back to Mr. Terry Boot, but Mowey is saying we must takes it to Albus Dumbledore."

Albus leaned over the table to take the scarf from Mowey, while looking disapprovingly at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Heads of Houses. He made a mental note to speak with them later about what was appropriate behavior for students, and what he expected of them as Professors.

"Thank you, Mowey. You have indeed done the right thing by bringing this directly to me. You may rest assured I will deal with Miss Abbot and Mr. Boot appropriately."

"Thank _you_, Albus Dumbledore, but I is not being finished! Mowey is still having to tell you about what he is finding missing!" Mowey paused to take a breath. "Mowey is finding missing—a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

Mowey's announcement was met with incredulous stares from everyone except Albus, whose blue eyes twinkled. "A toilet seat, Mowey? Are you quite sure?"

"Yes. Mowey is going into the boys' bathroom that is being on the third floor, and he is finding it missing. Mowey is looking in all the bathrooms, and he is finding no toilet seat. He is even asking Myrtle if she has been seeing it, and she is telling him no. Mowey is believing that someone," Mowey's voice dropped to a scandalized whisper, "is _eating_ the toilet seat!"

~~~~~~~~~~

FLASHBACK TO SOMETIME TWO WEEKS AGO

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hand me a ratchet."

"Oy, what's a ratchet?"

"Dunno. I just wanted to say 'ratchet'."

"My vote is to just _pull_ it off. We're Beaters. And we roughed up that Jason bloke who kissed ickle Ginnykins. Based on those qualifications, it is my belief that we are perfectly prepared to manhandle this toilet seat from this toilet…stand? What _is_ this thing called, George?"

"It's called 'The Incredible Hulking Object Hindering Our Highly Illegal Operation.' Who _cares_ what it's called, Fred! What's important is that we have only…fifty minutes to detach this toilet seat—which, by the way, is disgustingly unsanitary—and lug it up to our room."

"Right-o, George. How's this? Detached enough for you?"

While George had been speaking, Fred had unobtrusively loosed the screws and pocketed them. He lifted the toilet seat into the air to punctuate his sentence. 

"I see. Yes. That looks corking, Fred. Absolutely spiffing. Now, we'll just nip upstairs and owl this off to our dear little sister."

"I do believe our dear Mum will be upset, George."

"I do believe you're right, Fred."

George grabbed the tools and followed Fred through the shadows up to the Tower. They stopped outside the guardian portrait. The Fat Lady was sleeping amid a collection of wrapping paper and ribbon. She had been celebrating her birthday with Violet, a friend of hers from a portrait on the second floor.

Fred looked stealthily both ways. "_Voldemort_," he whispered. The Fat Lady not only woke up, she almost jumped out of her frame. "What the bollocks do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "I've never been so scared in all my _life_!"

George looked shocked. "Fred! That is _not_ the password!"

"I know. But wouldn't it be funny if it was? Jarvey Jabber."

George sighed as the portrait opened. He loved his brother, but sometimes his antics were a little over the top. The twins crept over to a couch in the corner of the room. Fred put the toilet seat down on the table while George collapsed onto the couch.

"I'm knackered, Fred. I'll help you with this next bit, but you'll have to go up to the Owlery yourself. I don't know if I could make it another two steps. It's a shame we can't Apparate. I suppose now I'll have to sleep on this couch."

"Perfectly acceptable, my dear George. Gave you a fright, I suppose? It was only in fun. Now, hand me the screwdriver."

Fred used the screwdriver to painstakingly etch the following inscription on the toilet seat—"Feeling sad? Dump all your worries on a toilet."

George carried his package up to the Owlery. He made sure to use the hidden passages, but was still almost caught by Filch. He breathed a sigh of relief once he made it safely. Soon, three of Hogwarts' largest owls were winging their way to The Burrow, bearing a note that read:

"This is for you, Gin.

We always keep our promises.

Hang it on the wall—

Mum'll have kittens.

Love,

Fred and George"

~~~~~~~~~~

RETURN TO THE PRESENT

~~~~~~~~~~

Ginny Weasley sat, staring at the blank paper in front of her. It loomed—large, white…and _blank_. Two hours had passed, and Ginny had yet to write a word. A few times she had lifted her quill, as if to finally begin…but, each time, she returned it to the desk with a sigh.

Her Literature teacher had assigned a creative essay of at least two hundred words. Ginny had run home, excited to begin her project, with vague ideas of shipwrecks and munchkins. Unsurprisingly, those ideas did not materialize. 

So now she sat, tired to the point where any idea she had was about pillows, or…toasty warm blankets. Just thinking about it, Ginny closed her eyes, picturing her bed wistfully. But her mother had told her to finish at least one page before leaving her seat. Ginny privately thought that being a witch wasn't much good if she couldn't charm her chair to carry her around the room.

After another twenty minutes of inactivity, Ginny determined that the only way she would ever be allowed to eat again was if she wrote the first thing that came to mind. Quality no longer mattered. The only important thing to Ginny was getting her hands on one of her Mum's chicken salad sandwiches.

Ginny gulped some lemonade to clear her head. She grimaced—it was sour. And she still felt too tired to formulate a story of her own. Ginny thought she was doomed to a lifetime of servitude to the paper in front of her, until she remembered a trick Charlie had taught her.

Once, he had come home from school with an A-plus essay. Usually one to brag about doing better than Bill, Charlie was uncharacteristically reluctant to display his accomplishment. Molly wanted to be understanding of his new-found humbleness, but she also wanted very much to read the essay, so she waited until Charlie fell asleep and then sneaked into his room. She fell asleep that night with the nagging sensation that she had read the same words once, but she couldn't place the memory. Upon waking, she recalled that the essay was one she had written as a child. Charlie's model dragons had been taken away for a month.

Ginny intended to use Charlie's trick, but also to learn from his mistakes. _She_ would not get caught. Charlie had made the mistake of borrowing from something concrete—something that made it possible for the thievery to be proven and dragged back to his feet. The youngest Weasley was smarter than that. She knew from countless arguments that spoken words could always been manipulated and denied. After careful deliberation, Ginny decided that the best way to assure her safety would be to retell the story Molly had used to tell her children while they fell asleep. Smiling happily, Ginny set to work, glad to have freedom in her sights.

"Although most of the world has been explored, there is still one undiscovered place left—a garden invisible to the human eye. But fairy people and other magical creatures could see the garden. One fairy, named Rainbow, was friends with a hermit who lived nearby. The hermit was fascinated with the story of the garden and asked Rainbow to show it to him. She explained that humans could only see the garden by using a magical powder, but that she was not permitted to give the powder to anyone. Desperate to see the garden, the hermit stole some of the powder from Rainbow's house. The next day, the hermit followed Rainbow when she went to the garden. He watched until he saw her disappear, sprinkled some of the powder on his head, and walked forward."

~~~~~~~~~~

Amos Diggory was kneeling in the dirt, positioning a terra cotta gnome in his garden. It was a new model he had seen advertised in Diagon Alley, guaranteed to keep the gnomes away. He was surprised to see a shadow fall across the ground in front of him. Normally, he would not have noticed, but _this_ shadow was abnormally large, and appeared to be traveling at an inconsistent pace.

Standing up, Amos shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight, gaping at the odd sight before him, which was unusual even for a wizard. He saw three owls carrying what appeared to be a giant horseshoe wrapped in bright scarlet paper. The owl holding up the left side of the package seemed to be more tired than the others, lagging behind as if it needed a rest.

The owls continued traveling tiredly across the garden, over the house, and through the village, getting closer all the time to their destination, The Burrow. Amos remained standing in his garden, watching them grow smaller in the distance. He shook his head, thinking that perhaps the world still held surprises for him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Before him appeared the most beautiful garden any human had ever seen. There were exotic plants and animals everywhere. But the most spectacular thing of all was the golden cauldron in the center of the garden. Inside the cauldron were seven precious stones—ruby, topaz, citrine, emerald, sapphire, obsidian, amethyst. As the hermit gaped at the wealth before him, it began to rain. When the raindrops hit the gems, each turned into a leprechaun, and each leprechaun matched the color of the stone he came from. One by one, the leprechauns flew through the air, leaving behind them streaks and arches of vibrant colors."

Ginny put down her quill, unable to remember any more of the story. She had usually fallen asleep by the time the jewels turned into leprechauns. It wasn't that Molly was a bad storyteller, it was that Ginny played hard with her brothers, and slept hard at the end of the day.

Now, although she didn't want to take the risk, she saw no other way to finish her project than to ask her mother for the ending. Done carefully, Ginny might be able to talk her Mum into telling the story without raising her suspicions.

As she pushed back her chair, preparing to go and find her Mum, she was spared the effort. Mrs. Weasley walked into the room, carrying a parcel.

"This just arrived by owl post for you, Ginny dear. There is no return address. Although I think it may be from your Aunt Louise. She probably forgot your birthday again. I don't think you got anything from her, did you? This is probably it, then." 

"But what is it, Mum? It looks like a giant…well, a giant _something_. It's quite large. Are you sure it came by owl? I'd think it would be too heavy."

"For one owl, it would. But this came with three. I'm surprised. If it were _me_, I would have sent it with at least five. Of course, that's your Aunt Louise for you. She was never the smartest in your Dad's family. Fortunately for her, she inherited your Grandmum's good looks." Molly paused, as if to reflect on the bleakness of Louise's life as a plain woman. "Well, dear, aren't you going to open it?"

Ginny took the package from her Mum's arms, surprised by its weight. It had looked heavy, but not _that_ heavy. She quickly transferred it to the table, where she stood regarding it. 

Part of her wanted to tear it open right away. And another part of her—well, no. _All_ of her wanted to tear it open right away. As the youngest child, Ginny was accustomed to hand-me-downs. She was always excited to get something new, something only hers. Once, when she was five, her Dad had bought her her very own kite. A big green one with wavy silver stripes. When it tore on a tree she collected all the pieces and saved them in a jar. And she never forgot how special her Dad had made her feel.

Staring at the gift, Ginny experienced the same feelings of anticipation. She forgot that it was shaped like a horseshoe and imagined all kinds of things inside. In her imagination the wrapping contained everything from the new translation of Dead Souls to a bicycle. To her, the package had the capacity to bring happiness, contentment, and joy. Ginny was so anxious to unwrap the gift that she would have torn it open right then if Molly hadn't stopped her.

"Wait, dear! There's a card. See, there, under the bow. You ought to open it first."

Impatient, Ginny almost tore the card off. She opened it quickly, not really caring what it said, or, at this point, who it was from. 

"This is for you, Gin.

"Fred and George, Mum! It's from Fred and George!" 

We always keep our promises.

Hang it on the wall—

Mum'll have kittens.

Love,

Fred and George"

"Well what does it _say_?" 

"Something about a painting…or kittens. I think. I could be wrong though. It says, 'Hang it on the wall—Mum'll have kittens.'"

"Those boys haven't written to me _once_ this year, even after they _promised_. And now they do, and it's to send something to make me angry. Oooh, those boys! Mark my words, Ginny, if you don't write to me when _you_ go to Hogwarts, you'll have something coming!"

"Maybe I'll just open my present now, Mum. I want to see what it is! The twins never send me gifts for no reason, this must be something really special."

Starting at one end, Ginny peeled the wrapping off in one long strip to reveal…

"A toilet seat! Mum, they sent me a toilet seat! I would never have thought they'd remember! It was so long ago I was sure they must have forgotten." Ginny hugged the toilet seat while she was talking, unaware and uncaring of the picture she presented. It wouldn't have made any difference to her if it was a Nobel Prize. To her, the dirty, filthy toilet seat was the best thing she had ever owned. 

It meant that her brothers loved her. It meant that they had remembered her after all this time. They were in Hogwarts, one of the most fascinating places of all, they said, and they had taken the time to write to her. Ginny didn't know whether to sing or cry. 

"_Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry._

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

"A toilet seat?" Molly spoke faintly, unable to believe the sight in front of her.

"Oh, Mum.. Don't you remember? We were on the platform saying good-bye to the boys, and I was so sad because they were all leaving and it was going to be only me. Fred didn't want me to cry, so he said he'd write me. And then George," Ginny started to choke up, making it difficult to talk, "George—said he'd send me," hic, "a—toilet seat!" At this point Ginny lost all self-control, breaking out into hysterical sobbing.

Molly didn't have a reputation as the best mother in Britain for nothing. Ginny's tears fazed her not at all, rather, they seemed to mobilize her into action. She gathered her daughter into a hug, using her shirt to wipe the tears away.

"Shh…shh…don't cry Ginny. The twins still love you. _All_ your brothers love you. Even Percy." Molly gave a little laugh. "I know he doesn't show it, sometimes, but he does. You'll always be their baby sister, even when you're all grown up. That's what brothers are for. And you're a lucky girl to have so many of them. Not every girl has brothers that send her…toilet seats…" 

Several hours later, Ginny discovered that she didn't need to hear the end of the story from her Mum. She had a much better ending of her own to write.

"The hermit looked at the arch of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet, and realized he was seeing a gift from the fairies. He decided that such a wonderful gift deserved a name, so he called it a rainbow in honor of the fairy who gave the world such a beautiful gift."

Ginny hung her toilet seat on the living room wall. And her Mum did not have kittens.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at Hogwarts, Fred and George were enjoying a breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and French toast. At least, they had the means of enjoying it. The food was spread in front of them, and their knives and forks were there as well.

But their appetites were suppressed by anxiety and nerves. The Gryffindor match against Hufflepuff was _today_, and Snape was still scheduled to referee. 

In fact, all the Gryffindors looked a little pale. None of them believed Snape would actually be _fair_, and everyone was worried that he would lose them their chance at the Cup. 

Oliver Wood had last been seen lying in bed, weeping into his pillow. He seemed sure that, despite Potter, despite the turn around season, his dreams were being crushed before his eyes. No one had the heart to tell him that, secretly, they agreed.

No, it was not a happy day for the Gryffindors. Snape was refereeing, and the future seemed to be painted in green and silver colors.

Minerva sat at the head table, hoping desperately for a miracle. Anything to break the tension, and perhaps inject some hope into the atmosphere. She had a hunch that if her players _believed_ they could win, then they would. It was this irrational _fear_ of Severus. Hufflepuff was nothing difficult, but they were all petrified of their Potions master.

Later, it would be said that Fred and George were responsible for the Gryffindor win. Not only because of their Beating skills, but because of their equally infamous skill as pranksters. 

Just as the twins were about to give up on breakfast altogether, a commotion swept the room as the owl post arrived. Errol was gliding across the tables, carrying something in his talons. He released it in front of Fred, circled around, and came to a stop. George fed him a toast crust while Fred looked at what had been dropped.

"George…it's—dentures? Someone sent us…_dentures_." After his initial surprise, Fred seemed to think it was a great joke. "Oy! Angelina! Look what our we've got—dentures!"

Fred gingerly picked up the dentures and waved them around the table so everyone could get a good view. He dropped them in shock when they began to scream. The jaws opened wide and Molly's voice came out, obviously outraged.

"FRED WEASELY! A _TOILET SEAT_? THAT'S VANDALISM, THAT IS. YOUR FATHER IS IN A VERY PRECARIOUS POSITION IN HIS JOB RIGHT NOW—YOU _KNOW_ THAT—AND YOUR SELFISHNESS COULD LOSE IT FOR HIM. THEN WHERE WOULD WE BE? I'M SO UPSET I COULD SMACK YOU. YOU SHOULD JUST BE GLAD THERE'S APPARITION WARDS UP AROUND HOGWARTS. BUT YOU WATCH OUT THE NEXT TIME YOU COME HOME! YOU TOO, GEORGE!" 

George and Fred sat, freckles distinctive against their unnaturally pale skin. They were confused as to how their gift had been so misconstrued. George carefully reached over to the dentures and picked them up, hoping to find a small note, or something. He dropped them when the dentures began to talk again, but in a much quieter voice. 

"Fred, George, I hope you've learned your lesson. But I thought you should also know how much Ginny appreciated your gift. I can't understand why, myself, but I'm glad you two made her happy. She's been so sad since you went to school. Behave! You, Fred, and you, George. I'll be checking up on you! We all miss you. I love you!"

__

Well, thought Minerva, _that ought to have done it. Merlin bless Molly, we just might win after all!_

~~~~~~~~~~

That night the Gryffindors had a huge celebration. There was food from the kitchens, Honeydukes, and some students even contributed sweets their parents had sent them. Red and gold streamers hung from the ceiling, draped down the backs of chairs, and tripped people unaware.

The Gryffindors were celebrating their victory over Hufflepuff. Oliver Wood was overjoyed—his chance at the Cup had been returned! At the moment, he was tangled on the floor in a thick gold streamer, more than a little tipsy. Later, he would have to be carried up to his bed, where he would cry for the second time that day, but for entirely different reasons.

Fred and George were in the thick of the party, celebrating as only they could. Everyone was a bit surprised when, at ten o'clock, they made their way over to the portrait hole.

"Bring me back some more of this cake, will you Fred? This stuff's incredible!"

"We're not going to the _kitchens_, Lee. We've got detention."

"Detention—you two? What a surprise. What's it for this time? Did you blow up something of Snape's again?"

George snickered. "No. Although that _was_ one of our better pranks, wasn't it, my dear Fred? We'll have to do it again, in a month or two. No, Lee. This time," George assumed a theatrical swoon, with one arm over his forehead, "McGonagall didn't seem to appreciate our efforts to cheer up ickle Ginnykins. Fred and I sent her a toilet seat," Lee chuckled and shook his head in disbelief at the same time, "and, while our dear sister liked it all right, McGonagall didn't seem to feel the same way. What we won't do for family, eh Fred?" 

Katie Bell chimed in from across the room. "Go on, you two. If you leave now, you could catch the end of the party when you get back. And there won't be another party this big until we win the Cup!" Katie's said something else, but the twins couldn't hear above the cheering. So they just waved and smiled as they backed out of the room.

After looking furtively in all directions, they hopped on the banister and slid down a few flights of stairs until they reached the third floor, where Minerva had told them to report for their detention. They fell off, laughing, right at her feet. Their Head of House worked hard to hide a smile. She almost hated to punish them sometimes.

"Mr.'s Weasley! Get up off the floor right this minute!"

Fred and George clambered to their feet, wiping off their smiles as they did so. They actually managed to present serious faces to Minerva. The scene was an odd one, with everyone present hiding their laughter from the other. 

"After your…_unusual_ prank, of which I received news this morning, it has fallen to me to punish you appropriately. I've considered all day, and have arrived at a decision. The two of you will clean this bathroom." The twins looked on disbelievingly as Minerva pointed at the girls' bathroom behind her. "I believe you know Myrtle? She will be supervising you. When you have cleaned to her satisfaction, then you will be free to go."

Minerva turned to leave, and then turned back. "Oh, and boys? Congratulations on your win today. You should be proud of yourselves. If you work quickly, you could make it back for the rest of the victory party." The twins looked on in surprise as Minerva walked back to her rooms. _Maybe_, Fred thought, _she isn't so bad after all_.

Alone, the twins stood, staring at the bathroom door.

"Fred?"

"Yes, George?"

"I think our dear sister Ginny owes us a Chocolate Frog."

"That she does, George. That she does."

"Fred?"

"What, George?"

"Did I say, 'What we won't do for family?'"

"Yes, George, I believe you did."

"Well, I know the answer. _This_. This, we will _not_ do for family."

"Now, that's where you're wrong, George. We'd do anything for Ginny. Comes with the job description. Didn't Dad tell you? He had that discussion with me the year before we left for Hogwarts. Actually, come to think of it, he told me twice. _Ohhhh_, I see. Well, George, it's like this. Big brothers—that's us—must always take care of the youngest female—that's Gin. Even when she's all grown up and doesn't want us to, we still have to do it."

"I see." There was a slight pause. "Fred?"

"Yes, George?"

"I wish we could've seen Mum's face when Gin opened the toilet seat. I bet it was priceless."

"Me too, George, me too." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

REFERENCES:

_Abliento imago oris arista_: "Send an image of the mouth to the ear." According to legend, Morgaine gave birth to Mordred (or Gawaine), challenger to the throne of Arthur _Jarndyce v. Jarndyce_: generations-long lawsuit in Bleak House by Dickens The Crucible by Arthur Miller Wilkins Micawber: loquacious character from David Copperfield by Dickens Clabbert: extremely ugly fictional creature created by JKR, found in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

AUTHORS NOTE:

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this, my second story! Please read and review—_all_ reviews are very much appreciated! If your version came up without quotation marks, dashes, italicized or underlined words, different fonts, spaces, or indented paragraphs (Ginny's memory of seeing the boys off at the platform), drop me an email me at the following address: remembercedricFF-owner@yahoogroups.com with the subject "Requesting Fred and George", and I will send it as an attachment ASAP.

Discussion of this fic on the Yahoo!Group is permitted and encouraged. Out of courtesy, please put the word "Spoilers" in the subject, or leave spoiler space at the top of your post if you…well, have any spoilers. Ha. J Thanks so much. Recommend the Group to a friend, the address is Thanks again for reading!

—remembercedric 


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